


give me two damn minutes

by Splashattack



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Crash Landing, Episode: e174 Impact (Rusty Quill Gaming), Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Spoilers for Episode: e174 Impact (Rusty Quill Gaming), not beta read we die like I do every time I listen to 174, zoscar qpr my dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28005237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splashattack/pseuds/Splashattack
Summary: Zolf's dealt with disasters before. He knows how to distance himself from the gnawing lament growing in him, knows how to continue to be useful even as he falls apart.He can do this.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	give me two damn minutes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [futurearmadillomother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurearmadillomother/gifts).



> hehehe I wanted to write a fic with a lyric title,, taken from two minutes by the amazing devil (I was listening to it and I was like "ha this would be a good song for someone having to ignore their grief until later" ... "wait")
> 
> dedicated to my newlywed platonic spouse, partly as a wedding gift and partly because they're the reason I was listening to this song in the first place. love you 💚

Zolf’s knuckles are white on the helm, and he’s gripping it so hard that he’s almost worried the polished wood will snap. The world is a spinning mass of color and noise around him, and it’s so surreal as to be almost psychedelic. He can feel a tugging on his harness, and somehow over the crashing of the Vengeance and the splintering of the trees is able to hear the sharp _snap_ of guidelines. He doesn’t let himself look up and see who’s thrown over the ship’s railing; he isn’t ready for that knowledge.

There’s a final, groaning creak, and the world is still and soft. The snow is pristine and crystallic where it’s not been piled by the ship’s inertia or splattered with a vivid red that Zolf won’t let himself think about, and it muffles the echoing sounds of the crash in a way that is so inappropriate for the situation that it hurts.

Zolf lets his instincts take over; he’s dealt with disaster before. He’s yelling to bring injured crewmates to himself or Azu and is over the railing, running towards the first broken form before he’s really processed it, and the moment he sees the glint of silver in the snow, he wishes more than anything that he’d stayed on the Vengeance. He’s spent so long thinking about the curling metal, hating them for the pain they put on their wearer, that he’d recognize it anywhere, even as covered in blood and shrapnel as they are now.

They shouldn’t be here.

Zolf falls to his knees as he stops at the mangled body that was once Wilde, and his hands are shaking as he checks for a pulse. He knows there won’t be one; a spear of the ship’s hull is thrust straight through his chest, and no one could survive that, especially not Wilde. He isn’t made for this sort of life; he’s meant to be scribbling furiously in a notebook, or charming high society with silver-tongued retorts. It was thrust on him, and it isn’t _fair_.

Zolf bites his tongue to hold in a sob, though he can’t stop the tears that stream down his face. His hands fall away from Wilde’s ashen neck, and he grasps one of his limp hands, shaking with silent hysterics. He’s squeezing Wilde’s hand too hard, would be hurting the man‒but it isn’t like he cares anymore, right? He is shattering, can feel bits of himself tumbling into the pit of despair growing in his stomach. He should have prevented this. He should have actually _spoken_ to Wilde when he still had the chance‒not shallow chatter, not a mission briefing, but an actual, meaningful conversation. He knows that he’ll always wonder what could have been had he just taken the chance, and now he’ll never know. Already he misses what he never had.

Zolf’s dealt with disasters before. He can do this. Wilde is beyond saving; no amount of wishing will change that. He just… needs a moment, and he’ll move on to what can still be fixed.

A moment passes. Zolf stands, wipes the moisture off his face, leaves a temporary patch over the emptiness within him. There will be time to grieve later.

**Author's Note:**

> 🍕


End file.
